The truck pulled on on the port with fifteen 88 pound sacks of plaster powder, plus numerous other sacks that needed to be hauled up stairs.
Manpower is impressive and rather sexy.
Pinch myself I do often. A dream come true.
The truck full of plaster sacks is better than a closet full of designer clothes and shoes.
And that view. Amazingly fortunate I feel.
Renee, the artisan who is renovating our apartment in Cassis, is young, strong, talented, fast... I am utterly impressed with how he can do it with contagious happy energy.
His father came to help him today. His father looks like his brother.
Renee's father is an artist one of the many things he does is creates staff moulding by hand. He came to help plaster the walls.
A massive undertaking in a small space.
Talk about no room in the inn.
My mom tells a story of when my cousin Daniel plastered her dining room. She says that the amount of plaster on the ceiling was enough to cover the entire house.
It stuck, stayed strong and is still there: A ton above the dining room table.
A biggie bag, as they call them in France full of sand.
Once up the first floor, most things can be hauled up by the electrical pulley.
Those rough walls will be torn down, then chicken wire will be nailed and the plaster process will begin.
The walls upstairs are ready for the chicken wire.
Our apartment, the two blue shutters above Chez Gilbert.
The entrance stairs.
Attractive aren't they?
Our friends from Austria, Lieselotte and Dieter arrived last night. This morning Sacha called to say he wasn't feeling well, he has a high fever, throwing up, worshipping the porcelain god and well feeling miserable. He said he passed out twice. Needless to say, I caught the next train to Paris because that is what moms do. I cannot stand to be sick alone. Our friends are staying for a few days so hopefully I will see them in a day or two.
May peace on earth come soon.